


phlebotomy

by miehczyslaw



Category: DOGS (Manga)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Complicated Relationships, Consensual Violence, F/M, Pseudo-Incest, the gore of Love and all that, this was supposed to be a pwp but i caught feels so w/e
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 02:43:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20631788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miehczyslaw/pseuds/miehczyslaw
Summary: The knife never stutters.





	phlebotomy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sakurapanchi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakurapanchi/gifts).

At the beginning:

It’s all sword that depraves the bone, that cuts the flesh, that frightens the already dead shadows.

X

And there’s a cold steel kiss on her petal-lips made up of blood— blood from her artificial parents, from Fuyumine, from Campanella, from herself too.

And there’s a cold steel kiss above her scar as well (the wound may be closed already but the pain still rides through the alleys of her skin, from time to time).

And there’s a cold steel kiss a little lower at the height of her belly button, _and a little lower_.

It descends it descends it descends— to her thighs and the honey between them.

X

At the middle:

It’s Magato, devouring her whole and without any hurry, because Magato’s a stray dog with both eternal hunger and thirst, in a constant search for a snack worthy of his time and effort to hunt it. He doesn’t like leftovers or miserable food— in that city where God is blind and can never see them even though he’s always looking at them— (Naoto thinks very briefly that God must look like Bishop, then immediately remembers that she doesn’t believe in any God nor wants to think about Bishop in a moment like this).

It turns out that the Devil has asked her hand for a waltz and she has accepted and now he dances with her since she has memory— but her memory is made from broken glass and fogged fog, is difficult to decipher.

So.

So.

So.

(of course the glass licks her fingertips if she tries to grab it, and the blade of her sword is already red before slashing others even.)

X

And Naoto smells like smashed skulls and dresses in the shelter of the night sky.

And Naoto carries a thousand lives of torture in her button-eyes of obsidian, muted and too cold and that. That Magato loves— but _it’s not like Naoto cares_, everything he likes she doesn’t give a damn.

“Cruel, so cruel,” Magato chants as in a habit, with mockery. But he sounds amused too. _Almost tender_. “You’re a Moira, did you know? And a sweet pear too, if I had to guess. Ha.”

Naoto hisses him to shut up.

_I don’t want to hear you you stupid, just to feel you_.

(_just to feel myself, something like human_).

She curses his snake tongue and his words, always sweetened with poison, and all of him, basically. But then Magato kisses her sharply and bites her tongue and Naoto. Naoto is not weak but—

(pain is the only thing that constantly receives her with open arms).

(pain is the only thing that never leaves her).

(Magato isn’t pain.)

X

At the middle:

It’s the knife that screams in a very loud silence.

It’s the old gun that howls at the moon bathed in crimson and the half-consumed cigarettes that are lying on the ground of an abandoned church and the feathers of a white dove that cannot fly by itself.

It’s the knife-tongue that kisses and bites and licks her breasts, his hot hands all over her skin, their moans of charcoal, and his cock deep inside in the black forest between her legs.

Thrusting without consideration, without tenderness, just because she asked him to, just because it’s the way _she likes it_.

Raw, raw, raw—

(like life itself).

An absolute obscenity.

_And if mercy’s the distance between my mouth and your mouth—_

“Don’t you dare to have mercy on me.”

The knife never stutters.

X

Then Magato smiles at her and it’s like glimpsing a panther just at the precise moment its going to attack you.

(except. Except it isn’t. His eyes are soft when he’s looking at her, even if his smile is all brutal teeth.)

Then Magato pushes her against the wall of an alley and murmurs dirty things to her ear— “I love you, I love you, I love you,” and sweet promises he won’t keep, “and I’ll destroy you Naoto-chan, wait for it,” and a cursed feel who both spit on. “Because you’re so pathetic and so precious, it infuriates me...”

Then Naoto allows him.

(_everything-everything_, except being killed by him or killing Magato herself).

And it’s messy and rough but she never lets go of her forged steel, her sword, his promise (their heart).

Not even when her orgasm suffocates her and Magato grunts and his cum staints her thighs like blood in a crime scene.

It turns out that Magato’s kisses are half prayer half hell. They burn her alive.

But that means love, _doesn’t it_?

Even so.

She buries her nails in his skin, like a coffin, and pretends it’s not a hug.

X

At the end:

Magato always leaves her.

(Magato isn’t pain.)

Naoto wishes he was dead.

(Naoto is in pain.)

Both know they’re lying to themselves.

(And he’ll come back, and she’ll be waiting.)

It’s all, “I’m damn sorry, I can’t love you well.”

_Your blood is not rotten_.


End file.
